The Discussion Pertaining William
by Azkas19
Summary: At the annual shinigami company dinner, three reapers ponder over the matter pertaining William, whilst the man himself came to realize his real reason for being a tad...lenient with Grell.
1. Ain't Misbehavin'

**Grell's a girl in this one. The Reaper gang're all here except for Undertaker. **

**Kuroshitsuji and all its characters belongs to Yana Toboso. **

**To you who took the time to read and comment, I thank you sir/ma'am/miss. Concrits very much welcome. **

"Whoah, they should, like, bake this stuff in brownies and give them to rabbits, senpai reaper man. Yeah…that's so cool."

"Nah, nah. Too little, too little. We should give them to the homeless. Didn't they teach you that in sch-hic! *'scuse me* school?"

Grell Sutcliff, Eric Slingby and Ronald Knox were dressed in their evening's finest, crammed comfortably together in the old shed behind the exam hall. They were at their alma mater the London Shinigami Academy, attending the annual company dinner; but right now they seemed more like a group of teenagers skipping the school prom and having their own clandestine party.

Between them, they'd managed to squirrel out food and drinks from the kitchen, all thanks to Ronald's boyish charm. The youngest shinigami also managed to obtain a certain rollup cigarette of dubious nature from one of the staff, guaranteed to 'give him a trippy time', which he was at the moment passing around with the other two.

By now the air was a comfortable haze of three shinigami brains gently sizzling in sweet narcotics and sauteed with alcohol.

"Hey, if I rub this stuff over my body, will I catch fire? Are you sure this is tobacco, Ronniekins?" Grell asked, inspecting the rollup.

"Dunno, they told me it was special tobacco, Miss Grell."

"Pass the whishkey, willya doll? There's a good girl. Cheersss," Eric said, raising a mock toast to them.

Grell sighed. "Wonder what my Will's doing at the moment."

For the first time that year, William was invited to join the main table up front, leaving the rest of his underlings banished into the outer stratospheres of guest tables.

Eric, Alan, Grell and Ronald were like detritus swept aside by the more elite reapers, left behind all sad and alone at table N, hidden from the world by a roman pillar with a hideously large vase of flowers. It was no secret that table N were usually reserved for the…notorious Reapers, and the London Dispatch Branch had been racking notorious points at an alarming rate of late, all thanks to their self-proclaimed Queen of Fruits.

"You know, I think my desk's still around here somewhere. During exams I'd always be in the same row as Will, and I'd spend the whole time just staring at him," she said.

"Did that inspire you to get full marks?" Eric dryly asked, much to Ronald's amusement.

"Well…no. But look at us now. Together at last! I tell you true love conquers all."

"Pfft, I can't believe you had a crush on Boss since school!"

"Whyever not? Only I can understand him, so there!" Grell sniffed.

"Whatever you say, princess," Eric said, passing the rollup to Ronald. "Which reminds me: how'd your psychological evaluation go? They send in the report yet?"

Now it was no longer a secret within the department that after her Jack the Ripper stint, Grell was instructed to undergo a test to determine whether she was fit enough to continue her Reaping duties.

"No, nothing yet. If there were, then surely Will would've told me by now. Oh, I didn't like those doctors at all, Eric! They asked all these creepy, personal questions…and I suspect they're making me give answers that'll prove I'm insane!"

"Tch, bastards. Why didn't you ask me to come along? I'd have taught them a thing or two."

"Nobody's allowed in during the interview…not even Will."

"Quit yer worryin', Miss Grell! The Boss's not going to send you to bedlam!" Ronald said, taking a swig of shandy.

"Yeah," Eric casually said. "Nobody's gonna shag him if he did."

Ronald snorted his drink up his nostrils.

"I mean, seriously," the big shinigami went on as the boy dissolved in a fit of coughs and Grell frantically patting his back. "What kind of woman batty enough – saving yer presence, of course – to do the dirty with him? Even for a 100 quid nobody'd do it. That man's about as cuddly as…as…Ciel Phantomhive! Bwahahaa!"

He was feeling rather witty, even though the other two didn't share his humour. It must've been the alcohol. Or the trippy rollup. Maybe even both. Coupled by the fact that William wasn't there, Eric's tongue was flapping looser than an airport windsock.

"Honestly though, princess…you've been with him long enough, so something must've gone right. How's he in the…you know…" he whistled and made vague motions towards his nether regions.

At this point Grell laughed and said, rather coyly: "Well, wouldn't you like to know."

"C'mon, since we're already on the topic, you might as well do some sharing. I bet you never even told your girlfriends about this," Eric urged, and then added a line he'd overheard from the accounting department. "So spill, girl."

"Hush, love. A lady never tells her bedroom stories."

Ronald gave a final sneeze before saying: "Are we really going to talk about the Boss's…er..?"

"Bollocks. I know you're dying to tell, Grellibean."

"Well, I don't have any complaints so far-"

"Hah! I knew it! Boss is a complete sex freak, isn't he? I bet he makes you dress up as a police constable, then perform a strip dance upside-down from the ceiling, and then once you're naked, he'd ask you to crawl towards him and say 'You're under arrest' in five different languages and positions. Am I right?"


	2. Preventing Bedlam

**Grell's a girl in this one. The Reaper gang're all here except for Undertaker.**

**Kuroshitsuji and all its characters belongs to Yana Toboso.**

**To you who took the time to read and comment, I thank you sir/ma'am/miss. Concrits very much welcome.**

Ronald's mouth hung open.

Within the dimness of the shed, Grell's teeth glinted as she bared it into a grin. "Why, isn't that what you'd usually do with Alan, love? Speaking of positions, I'm sure you know loads more than I do. You'd probably not only wrote the book, but published it under a pseudonym as well!"

Amidst Eric's howls of protest, Ronald tentatively said: "C-can we change topics, please? I don't think I'm comfortable with this." He reached for the whiskey and took a nervous swig.

"Why not? We should call this-" at this point Eric adopted a scholarly stance, "'The Discussion Pertaining William's Willy'."

"Amen to that," Grell solemnly said, clinking shandy bottles with him.

"Before the both of you got together, we all thought that Boss has never had a shag his whole life," Eric said. "I mean, quite possibly the closest thing he's had a horizontal bop with was his desk…and that's only by accident! I dunno how you managed to coax him into it, princess, but my hat's off to you. He's someone who struck me as being more prudish than a nun. However-" he pressed on in the middle of their laughter, "that man'd sooner lick Sebastian Michaelis's arse than admit it…but any idiot with eyes can see that he's crazy about you, love. I ain't never gonna lie about that."

"Oh, Eric…that's really nice of you to say. Thank you."

"Anytime, love. An-y-time."

The three of them lapsed into a momentary comfortable silence. By now the rollup had long gone and their livers had joined the convivial organ cookout, leaving them tripping the light fantastic in whatever level of consciousness they were in at the moment. Grell was positive she saw a family of tricorn-wearing marmots zip past.

Eric grunted and patted his pockets. He pulled out a packet of cigarettes and offered them to the other two.

"Ooh, champion. Ta', senpai," said Ronald gratefully. "Y'know, I think it's about time we got back."

"Mmh, sure thing. After this ciggie," said Grell, leaning over so that Eric could light hers.

...

William could sense it. His Grell Radar wasn't picking up any signals, but then that was because of a glaring lack of boisterous red anywhere in the hall. He excused himself from the main table and stalked towards his underlings' table, where he found Alan sitting quietly all by himself.

"Humphries, where're the other three?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"Eric's gone to the loo, Grell said she needed to pop into the kitchen to powder her nose, and Ronald's outside…keeping watch over the carriage wheels."

"Carriage wheels."

"Yes. This is London. You never know…they might get stolen."

William took a deep breath, telling himself to not lose his temper until he found those idiots.

Wordlessly, he left and made his way outside. If there were anything he's really good at (which was a lot), it'd be to sniff out trouble. But in this case, all he had to do was find Grell's scent and follow it.

The scarlet Reaper was an Elizabeth Bathory of perfume. She wore them like a battering ram: it, along with her reputation precedes her. It would sweep along in her wake, leaving a trail of mass destruction; and she'd happily imagine that butterflies were following her, when in truth all it did was act up people's sinuses. Grell was a walking biohazard, and William swore that if he'd wanted to clear an area, all he had to do was drop her there.

Thinking of her brought him back to the rather unpleasant phone call by the Director earlier that day. A copy of her evaluation report was on his desk, and William scanned through them, taking note of key words while he half-listened to the old man at the other line.

The prognosis wasn't good at all. He caught descriptions of 'split personality', 'borderline bipolar disorder', 'psychotherapy treatment' and 'possible danger'. His frown deepened even further. He knew exactly what they all meant, and needless to say, he was far from enthusiastic with their so-called 'expert observation'.

He may not be well schooled in that area, but he was positive that their shock and water treatments does more damage to patients. For all her spunky personality, Grell would never survive this. Nobody can. He might as well have signed her death warrant. The moment he'd allow this to go through, he'll lose his Grell forever.

There. He'd said it. His Grell. Nobody else's but his.

The truth was…while he'd never agree with it, he understood why she did what she did. Since the beginning, he was careful enough to outline the possible landmines of their relationship.

Children.

How can he make her understand that he didn't mind not having any? They're already happy together, aren't they? William wasn't a man susceptible to fear, yet the thought of no longer having that red, noisy ball of energy causing chaos in his life was…petrifying.

He was brought back to reality by the Director's sharp tone. He curtly told the other man that he will put his personal attention into the matter and bade him goodbye.


	3. Busted!

**Grell's a girl in this one. The Reaper gang're all here except for Undertaker.**

**Kuroshitsuji and all its characters belongs to Yana Toboso.**

**To you who took the time to read and comment, I thank you sir/ma'am/miss. Concrits very much welcome.**

All William had to do was keep Grell happy, and that's extremely easy. She still had to follow rules, though, he mused as he walked through the dark and empty school corridors.

Let's see…he still remembered all the hiding spots like the back of his hand. It's been so long now – probably half of them were gone. However, there was one particular place that was popular among the students. Is that shed still standing…?

He knew he was spot-on the minute he heard voices.

"Y'know, during my school years here, there was this one prefect who kept getting on my case," Eric's slurred voice oozed over like a hobo. "A senior, by the looks of it. Nasty, pompous little blighter. He'd always catch me cutting classes. Other prefects would've given up by then, but not this fella. Whotsizname, now…probably something stuffy like Edward or Charles…"

"Will," said Grell.

"Wassat?"

"It's my sweet William. I'm sure of it. He was Head Boy during my year."

"Oh. Bloody hell."

"I never met him," Ronald chimed in. "He left when I got in."

"Lucky you, Ronnie," said Eric. "He was just as tight-arsed then, eh Grelliebean?"

"Shush, love," Grell giggled. "Mind your language in front of a lady!"

"Sorry. With you it all comes out ala nat'ral."

William had heard enough. He marched around the corner and stood before his sloshed Field Agents with his arms akimbo. He brought down his Death Scythe hard onto a nearby desk. It made a sharp cracking sound, punctuated by his furious barking: "Sutcliff! Slingby! Knox!"

Eric actually yelped as the three of them jumped out of their skins. Whiskey bottles clattered to the floor as they hurriedly got to their feet. Or at least tried to. If they were on a ship, they'd probably find the sea steady as a mountain.

Beneath William's withering glare, they finally managed to look a tad bit presentable. The Supervisor began to stalk back and forth before them.

"I must say…congratulations, you dipsos. Well done for disgracing the London Dispatch Branch with your grossly unprofessional behaviour!" he thundered, his fury making him seem like an inevitable force of nature. "I cannot even begin to express how displeased I am right now with the three of you! It's bad enough I had to bear all the flak from the Director, but you being here getting inebriated does not help matters one bit!" He paused sniffing. "Have you been smoking?" he demanded at Grell.

"No," she said guiltily.

"Then why's your dress on fire?"

"Wha-?" She spun around, beating frantically at her skirt, which was smoking from behind.

Eric swayed, the embers of defiance in his eyes, fanned by the cocktail of poison swimming gleefully in his bloodstream and quite possibly, an ancient schoolboy grudge.

"Sho what?" he rumbled. "Wassamatter? Wassamatter with drinking a bit of whishkeyey?"

"Mr. Slingby, I'm sure I don't have to illustrate to you that 'a bit' does not constitute to an amount enough to exterminate a colony of mice. Now gather up your mess at once and follow me back to the hall! First thing tomorrow morning the three of you will be in my office for disciplinary action. Hurry up!"

Grell flinched at his tone. This time he was really angry. Not even a heartfelt rendition of Ophelia would help wriggle her out of this situation, and boy does she know how to wriggle. She could make a bellydancing snake look like it had two left feet. At this rate, she'd have far better luck parting the Red Sea than escape William's punishment.

"Sorry, boss," mumbled Ronald.

"I did not ask for an apology, Mr. Knox. Have you gone deaf? Do I need to repeat myself?"

William stood back, crossing his arms to his chest as he watched his reapers stumble about pathetically, trying to clear up the mess they've made.

God, this really brings back the old days. Come to think of it, everything's pretty much the same; only difference was now he's being paid to yell at them. He discreetly shifted his attention towards Grell.

He never regretted scolding her like he did the rest of them. She needed to understand that work was different from personal. That was a rule he absolutely refused to bend.

With one important exception, however.

If keeping her by his side meant having to use the full extent of his powers, then he'd do it.

THE END


End file.
